


Crack || ONE-SHOTS Jacksepticeye x Markiplier.

by Iloveswedishdjs



Category: jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom, youtuber
Genre: FECKIN, I paid for them O.o, Just wait til you get to the baby name, M/M, Pure crack omg, Septiplier - Freeform, Series of Oneshots, crack!, funnier if you read the dialogue out loud, my friend wrote these, some actually link together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15152357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iloveswedishdjs/pseuds/Iloveswedishdjs
Summary: Short one-shots about the adorable youtubers Sean and Mark.Pure crack!fic and pretty hilarious to read out loud.Some are fluff or kissing one-shots.





	1. Neighbours

 

"And as always, I will see you...in the next video. Buh-bye!" Mark yelled into his camera before stopping the recording. "Yeah, that's a lot less awesome from this end, with no music and no people," he said to himself, looking around at the empty room. Standing up and stretching, he grabbed his pink moustache and walked out the door. "Let's see what the lepra-sean is up to."   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
"POUNCH TAT LIEK BOUTTON IN THA FACE LIKE A BOUUUUUUSSSS!!! AND HI FIVES ALL ROND WAPISH WAPISH! And I will see all yu duedes... IN THA NEXCT VEDIOOOOOOO!" screeched the Irish YouTuber, spinning insanely on his chair and stopping the recording. "Oh, bloodeh fuk, tat was wun helova game." There was a knock on the door. "Oh, cen't cetch a fukken break arond 'ere," he muttered, in this incredibly racist accent I seem to think he has. I mean, it's strong, but... Sean walked over to the door, grabbing a Guinness on the way, and pulled it open. "Hui, muy name is Wilford Warfstache, and I'm here looking for your pot of gerld," his currently pink-moustached friend drawled.   
"If aye wasn't tha fukken equilivent of Irish fukken squered and condensed, that woud be mighty fukken racist," Sean told him, stepping aside. Mark wandered into the room, refusing to take off the moustache.   
"Maybe, but if I wasn't wearing a pink moustache I'd probably have a girlfriend by now."   
"And aye'd 'ave a gerlfrind buy now if dat mustashe dedn't turn me ga'er dan da forf of July."   
Mark raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you were gay."   
"I'm not fukken gay, mate. I'm fukken sexually attrected to mustashes. Deres a deffrence."   
"Oh..." Mark said, surprised. "Well, good thing I brought a spare." He pulled out a second pink moustache from his underpants.   
"Oooh, I fukken lov it, I fukken lov it!" Sean squealed. The rest of the day was spent doing things with moustaches that are illegal in England, Russia, India, Japan, and 12 states of America.


	2. Tongue

 

"WAT THA BLOODEH FUK IS GOEN ON 'ERE?" Sean yell at Mark beside him on the couch. "'Ow tha bloodeh fuk wud dat even be sexuel in any sense?"   
"I don't even know..." Mark answered, staring wide-eyed at the screen.   
" I meen, 'ow is dis," Sean said, opening his mouth and rapidly flicking his tongue. "Even fukken remotely plesent in a lass' mouth, eh?"   
Mark tilted his head at the screen. "Maybe it's better than it looks?"   
"I fukken dout et," Sean replied, shaking his head. "I mean, look." He grabbed Mark's head and pulled his lips to his, flicking rapidly with his tongue. Mark flailed for a moment before Sean let him go.   
"Well?" Sean demanded. Mark stared at him, wide-eyed.   
"Not that bad, actually," he said, thoughtfully. They both turned back to the TV. 


	3. Stuck

 

'Oh, tha luck of tha Irish,' sang Mark's ringtone, waking him from his sleep. He picked up the call.   
"Whaddayouwant?" Mark slurred tiredly.   
"MARK!" yelled Sean so loud Mark could hear him from the next room. "AYE NEED SOM FUKKEN 'ELP MATE!"   
"Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming," Mark yawned. He got up and walked out his door, five steps down the hall and into Sean's room. He paused in the doorway.   
"Ah...what?" Sean was suspended upside-down in the doorway of his closet by a pair of those ridiculous boots that hook onto a pole. "AND NO FUKKEN JOKES ABOOT BEAN STUCK IN DA CLOSET," yelled his red-faced friend.   
Mark rolled his eyes. He was tired, and didn't want to deal with this.   
"Alright, I can fix this," he said, walking over. Before Sean could speak, he closed the closet door on his face. "Tomorrow. Goodnight."   
He went back to bed with a smile on his face.


	4. Surprise

 

"Supernatural's on in five minutes," Mark called out to his roommate.   
"Jus' give me a fukken minute. Aye've go' a surprize for ye!" Sean yelled out, his Irish accent sounding like a terrible Scottish cartoon due to bad writing.   
"It better be popcorn. Extra salt," Mark called back, a second before Sean stepped into the room.   
He was wearing a skintight leather bra and pants that oddly fitted him quite well, yet must have chaffed. To top it off (literally) he was wearing the hat.   
"Ravage me, Mark," he said, aiming for a husky voice, but ending up Indian accent.   
Mark stared at him. "Actually, kinda hot," he admitted. "But can we do it after Supernatural?"   
"Well, obviously afta bloodeh Seupernataral, mate," Sean answered, sitting down with a loud creak. He moaned in pain.   
"Oh, me balls!"


	5. Cat Burglars

 

The black van pulled to a slow stop outside the museum. Within, the two ex-YouTubers surveyed the scene.   
"Remember the plan," Mark said, pulling the ski mask down over his face.   
"Yu git en and oot, I keep me fukkin' mouf shut," Sean answered in this terribly racist and politically incorrect accent that seems to be a theme. He adjusted the hat on his head. Mark looked back at him and rolled his eyes.   
They exited the van, and silently (surprisingly) snuck around the building to the camera's blind spot. Sean reached into the black bag that all burglars have and pulled out a grappling hook.   
"Wy is dis a fukkin' Batman replica, eh?" Sean asked, aiming the gun up. The hook shot up, over the roof and hooking onto the edge. Mark grabbed the rope and leapt up, getting up six feet before the hook dehooked and he landed flat on his back.   
Sean howled with laughter. "Oh, ye fat fuk', ye suppoosed to test da fukken' line ferst." He reloaded the gun and fired again as Mark struggled to his feet. Sean gave the line a few tugs, nodding his approval.   
"Up ye goo."

-t-i-m-e-s-k-i-p-  
"Right," Mark said, strapping himself into the harness. "Lower me, raise me, stay quiet." Sean rolled his, as I'd say he'd say, fukkin' aeyes and nodded towards the open skylight. Mark lowered himself in and, with a whirr of the winch, started going down on the museum... (I know what I wrote).   
Mark could see the box in front of him. No lasers, no cameras, nothing but fifteen feet separating him from his goal. Ten feet... Seven feet... Four fee-The winch stopped suddenly.   
"Sean," Mark whispered into his com. "I'm out of line."   
"WAT DA YA MEEM YUR OOT OV FUKKIN' LINE YA BLOODY ASIAN BASTARD? WER SOOO FUKKIN' CLOOS!" Sean roared into his ear. Mark jerked in his harness, flailing around, ending up hanging upside down with his legs around the line and the box between his flailing hands. He grabbed it, hearing a security guard in the distance.   
"Go Sean, go!" Mark shot upwards, still upside down and flying out through the skylight clutching the box. He leapt up as Sean looked over his shoulder.   
"Open de fukkin'theng," Sean answered, completely spoiling a dramatic moment.  
Mark unlatched the box and slowly raised the lid, and there it was. His treasure.   
"Ya no, aye dedn't thenk yu were fukkin' serius wen yu seaid to steel a mustach-sheped dildo," Sean commented.


	6. In A Video Game

 

The two avatars crept silently through the forest, spotting the bandits' hold through the trees. They stopped at the edge of the forest and surveyed the scene.   
"Got eh fukkin' plan yet?" asked the overly busty female dark elf on the left with entirely impractical armor for a fight.   
"Why do I always have to think up a plan? You think of a plan," responded the human avatar on her right.   
"Fein, ya fukkin' Asian basterd. I'll go deown da road as eh destrecten, you goo in thru da back and kell da basterds," Sean answered. Before Mark could respond, she'd slipped out through the trees and cut down to the path.   
Mark cursed, running back around to the wall at the rear. He waited for the signal.   
"HEELLOOOOOOOO," came the screeching call as Sean walked down the path. The bandit's all ran over to the front wall, giving Mark time to vault over and climb through a window. Three guards were clustered around the door, staring outwards. Mark stabbed them in the backs and went looking for more.

Meanwhile, Sean kept up the distraction, parading in front of the bandits. Three of them came towards him. "LALALALLALALALALALALA,' s/he screamed, drawing her axe and splitting open one's skull. She slashed another with a dagger and looked back up to see Mark on the top wall, fighting from left to right.   
The third bandit was still distracted by his cleavage, so she gave him his own cleavage in his throat. Sean ran forwards, scaling the wall to join his partner.   
A bandit stepped out of hiding, one of the last, and drove his dagger into her heart. Sean fell and heard Mark scream as he beheaded the bandit. He fell to his knees, hands coming to cover the wound.   
"GET YER FUKKIN' 'ANDS OFF ME TITS, YA JAPANESE PERVERT," Sean yelled, slapping his hand away. He climbed back to his feet, draining a potion to recover his health.   
"Hey, you made them gigantic. Why can't I test the design a little?" Mark asked, standing back up. He pulled out the chest hidden in the wall and drew out the sword hidden within.   
Sean laughed. "Oh, ye weren't fukkin' kiddin'. It's a gient fukkin' dildo sword!"   
(Of course it's a dildo. Its always a dildo.)


	7. Magazine Article

 

"Sean!" Mark yelled into the apartment, closing the door behind him. "We're in an article!"   
His roommate came out of the bathroom, wearing a pink bathrobe, the entire water tank, and his ever-present hat.   
"Enother on?" he asked, coming to stand behind Mark. "Red et oot."   
Mark cleared his throat, lifting the magazine, and began to read.   
"YouTube has become a common place for people to share themselves playing video games. More popular among these are the YouTuber 'legends'-"   
"Fuk yeh, wer legends!" Sean whooped on his ear.   
"-YouTuber ' legends PewDiePie and SmoshGames-"   
"Aw, wat da fuk? Fuk yu too." (How have I not been sued for this accent?)   
"As well as their friends and fellow YouTubers, Markiplier and Jacksepticeye."   
"Ther we fukkin' goo."   
"These two seemingly 'more-than-friends/roommates' have taken the internet by storm with videos such as Drunk Minecraft and Turbo Dismount. Aided by Markiplier's alter-ego Wilfred Warfstache (a pink-moustached reporter) and the overly Irish antics of Jacksepticeye (who's real name is Shaun)-"   
"Fukkin' basterds spelt me neme ron! Fukkin' pricks!"   
"We can be sure to expect great things from these two in the future. Provided they sober up and can keep their hands off each other for more than two seconds at a time," Mark finished, closing the magazine.   
The two remained silent for a moment.   
"Well, dere not fukkin' ron aboot tat."


	8. Part 1: ~What's in a name?~

  
(Unrelated pic, still wanted to post).

~

There were more books in this room about baby names than Mark had ever seen in one place at one time before. And that includes the time a shelf fell on him at the bookstore.   
Well, Sean had said it fell, but...

"Alonzo?" Mark called out over his shoulder to the kitchen.   
"'E's not gonneh meet te fukkin tenf Doctor, mate," Sean yelled back.

He was baking cookies, partially because he was hungry, partially because I needed him doing something, and partially because of this image: Jacksepticeye, in a flowery pink apron, delicate white oven gloves, and a ridiculously large chef's hat over his flat cap.   
Just picture that for a minute.

Mark flipped through the book to a random page again. "Trevor?"   
"Not unless 'e's a fukkin runaweh toad."

Mark rolled his eyes, throwing the book over the lounge and seizing another. "George?"   
"Of ta joongle, cureous, or Ser?"

Again, I must stress how terrible this accent is.

"Luke?"   
"I am yer fat'er!"

"Ash?"   
"Gotta cetch 'em all, fukkers!"

"Dean?"   
"Oh, 'e's boond to 'ave a happy liefe, ain't 'e?"

"Nexus?"   
"Dat's a fukkin phone, ya wee fukker!"

Mark groaned. They'd been at it for hous now, trying to name their (as yet) unadopted child.   
Sean's indecision and sarcasm wasn't helping either.

"Vincent?"   
"'Ow aboot someon with too e'rs?"

"George?"   
"Same fukkin problem!"

"Gaylord?"   
"Wat, arr we gevin' up on eh kid weth frends?"   
"Fuck you."   
"Tha's a terrebal neme!"

Mark let out an angry sigh, but the sing of the pink aproned man carrying cookie's dispelled that mood somewhat.   
"Eye was treying fer leighthooses," Sean said, placing the tray of DICKS on the table.

Come on, you should know by now there's always genitals involved.

"E'm seyen noo te Deck and Recherd too."


	9. Part 2:~Adapt and Adopt.~

"Are you ready?" Mark asked his partner.   
Sean was silent for a moment, staring at the building before them. "Nerp," he answered.   
Mark shook his head. "Me neither," he said. Together, they moved into the building, underneath the sign that said

'Los Angeles Adoption Agency: You get down and breed them, we'll find those who need them".

*I would just like to remind you that nothing I write should ever be taken seriously. Especially not the accent. **You can take the penis jokes seriously. Just don't take them too...hard.

They were greeted at the desk by a pretty woman. "Pick up or drop off?" She asked cheerfully.   
"Ah...how da fuk do yew anser somefin liek dat?" Sean whispered to Mark.   
"Er...we're here to adopt..." Mark answered the woman. She shrugged.   
"I figured. But if you want to put one up, I'm available for the making process. Especially the initial part. Especially with you two."

Mark and Sean stayed silent for a moment, slightly terrified. Sean was actually considering the offer.

"SECURITY!" a voice screamed out, and the woman bolted a few seconds before two burly men ran out from a door an ran after her.   
Another woman came around to the desk. "Sorry about that. We can't get rid of her."   
"Dat's all reight," Sean answered, still in shock.   
"You must be Mark and Sean," the new woman said, checking a list on the desk.   
"Adoption for one little boy. Yes?"   
"Yeah, that's us," Mark answered. The woman led them down the hall to a small room where a cot was waiting for them.

As the two looked down at their new son, sleeping away, the woman pulled a piece of paper from her clipboard.   
"Have you decided on a name?" she asked, pen at the ready. Sean shook his head, tearing up as he looked at the small figure.   
"Yew tell'er. Eye ned eh merment," he said, covering his mouth.   
Awww, sensitive Septiceye.

Mark turned to the woman and took a deep breath.   
"Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony in Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin," he told her in one breath.   
The woman stared at him for a few moments, mouth wide open.

"...We're endesieseve," Sean explained.


	10. Part 3: ~Scream Movie 14: Babies~

"Maek...hem...stahp..." Sean panted.   
"Hoooowww?" Mark answered in a loud whisper, contorting his face It was 12:27 at night.

Their newly adopted child, Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin, was screaming the scream of the undead in his crib.

He'd been there for five days, so the two new parents were not prepared for this situation.   
"Ey doon't knew!" Sean hissed back at Mark. The two had been up for hours, playing games when the screaming started. This late, with so little sleep, had the boys wound tighter than a constipated ass. Yeah, that tight.

"What do you want from us?" Mark pleaded from the small human. The only response was more screaming.   
"E'm aboot to stert scremin' meself," Sean said. His eyes were wide and he looked quite deranged.   
"Calm down, Sean," Mark cautioned.

Sean started emitting a night pitched whining noise with his mouth shut.   
"Oh, don't do it," Mark warned. Sean's mouth opened and the noise grew, matching Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin's volume.

"Oh my god," Mark muttered, wanting to scream himself. "That's it." "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Sean yelled Irishly. Yes, he screamed Irishly.   
"aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Mark responded, the sound getting the better of him. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH!"

Wow, this is lazy writing.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH!" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEOOUHHHHey, he's stopped," Mark answered.

"Wa...oh, 'e 'as," Sean anwered delightedly. (Delightedly? Oh, let's go have some tea and crumpets, Guv'ner.)

Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin had fallen asleep sometime during their exchange of screams, his tiny chest rising and falling.

Sean nodded slowly. "Oh, we arr soo fuked es parents."


	11. Part 4:~ The Wisest of Words~

"Mark!" Sean called out from the kitchen. Again, dressed in his flowery apron, gloves, and two hats, he was baking muffins this time. "Cen ye 'old da bebeh fer a whil'?"

Again, terrible accent, terrible writing, just go with it.

Mark came out of the studio, rubbing his eyes. "Give him here," he said, taking Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin in his arms.

The following conversation is said where a tall American-Korean man with glasses is holding a small child and a shorter pale Irish guy in a pink apron, white gloves, a flat cap and a chef's hat it baking muffins. Here goes.

"Where's da fukkin shugar?"   
"Don't swear in front of the baby."   
"Wha's 'e gonna dew aboot et?"   
"Just don't."   
"Fein. Whare's da fluggin shugar?"   
"Flugging isn't even a word!"   
"Tharfere, it ain't a fluggin sweer werd, ain't et?"   
"You're an idiot."   
"'Ey, doon't ensult meh en froont of de bebeh. Now whare's da fluggin shugar?"   
"Second shelf in the pantry. Where it always is."   
"Thenk yew. Wes dat soo herd?"   
"Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin, your other daddy is a moron."

"'Ey, eye 'erd dat, yew esean prick!"   
"Don't swear in front of the baby, Sean."   
"Ill sweer ef eye want tew, yew called meh a fluggin moron, yew...dengbat."  
"...Dingbat? That's what you could think of?"   
"Eye'd alreedy used preck. Wat wes I suppoosed tew seh?"

"Dingbat!"   
Both Mark and Sean froze, eyes wide. Neither of them had said that last part and together they looked down at the small being nestled in Mark's arms.

"Dingbat!" Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin repeated happily, staring up at his two fathers.

Mark looked up at his partner.   
"You were right. We are so fucked as parents."   
"Dern't sweer en froont of da bebeh."

"Dingbat!" The baby gurgled cutely.


	12. Part 5:~ Spiderchild~ ...[LAST CHAPTER]

On that one particularly fateful day, Mark came home from shopping alone. Laden with bags, he managed to pull open the door, step inside, close the door, drop the bags and freeze at the unusual sight he sighted.

Alright, picture this.   
Remember the pole and boot thing from the 'Stuck' story? Well, imagine that now spanning the doorway to the bedroom.

Now imagine Sean hanging upside-down yet again, entertaining Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin (and yes, the name is entirely to make up the word count. Muahahahahaha).

"What the hell did I walk into?"   
"Merk! Oh gewd, yer home! Halp meh!" Sean half-screamed from the doorway. As he turned to face Mark, Mark (Mark Mark) could see the purple of his face.

"Ooh, em fukkin stuck aggen."   
"Don't swear in front of the baby," Mark said, but he was trying not to laugh. Of course, that was the perfect time for their child to develop super powers.

Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle Keith Fischbach McLoughlin grabbed a handful of his father's shirt and, amazingly, in a scenario that could only be developed in a poorly-written fan fiction with racist Irish accents and two YouTubing parents, began to hoist (hehe, hoist. It's a funny word) himself hand over hand up his father.

"Wat da fuk is 'e doin'?" Sean yelped, but it was too much for Mark as Sam Tim Bob Felix Ian Anthony Ken Nate Wade Tyler Jovenshire Lasercorn Mark Jack Sean Dean Kevin Kyle 'Spiderchild' Keith Fischbach McLoughlin rose up his father until he hung from Sean's legs.

"Oh god, we adopted Spiderchild!" Mark shrieked in laughter, rolling on the floor.   
"OW CHILD IS NERLY TOO METERS IN DA AIR AND YER LAFFIN ABOOT IT!" Sean screamed, still dangling upside down. "Oh, we err soo fukked es perents."


End file.
